


you gotta let things go

by zamoangst



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/F, Lesbians, One Shot, i’m just kinda writing my feelings out tbh, i’m sorry if it’s sad, katya pov, marriage AU, omg i finally wrote some angst, this is kinda really sad i’m sorry, trixya - Freeform, tw death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zamoangst/pseuds/zamoangst
Summary: katya just got back to the house, and it’s just as they left it. she’s trying to get through it all, and trying to process.ortrixie has died, and her wife katya is trying to work through her feelings
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	you gotta let things go

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is majorly angsty, and i’m actually kinda nervous to post it. it took me quite a long time to write. it’s definitely kinda inspired by the ed sheeran song supermarket flowers, and i’m not sorry about it. i hope you like it!
> 
> tw for death

Her mug was still sitting on the counter. A light pink lipstick stain imprinted on the side, and coffee rings at the bottom.

Pairs of heels lining the hallway, and coats hung in the cupboard. The odd pink clutch bag slung over the post at the foot of the stairs.

She could still hear the Dolly record scratching in the corner.

They hadn’t made the bed that morning, and the cover was thrown back, revealing the soft imprint of a person. She rushed over and simply collapses into the empty space. The pillow is spilling the warm scent of strawberry shampoo and she buries her face in it, desperate for closeness. She runs her hands over the candles and perfume bottles on the nightstand, and slips the rings onto her fingers. The metal is smooth and cold on her knuckles.

She walks over to their closet, turning on the light as she steps in. Dresses and blouses are strewn across the floor. 

Up until now, she felt strong and ready to face this.

But this is too hard.

She slumps onto the floor, pulling the garments over her body. She clutches them to her chest and breathes in their smell. Running her finger  
tips over the soft satin material. She reaches for that pink hoodie and has to stop herself from shedding a tear before first taking off her own clothes and slipping it on.

She rarely wore lounging clothes, but this had been her exception. They’d spent countless nights cuddled on the sofa as she wrapped herself in it, and snuggled herself on top of her legs. She’d ran her fingers through her hair, lulling her to sleep and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

The hoodie feels soft and warm against her skin, almost, almost like a hug.

When she had first met her, she hadn’t liked hugs. She was reluctant to even an arm around her. She can recall countless times she’d whine for her to come and cuddle. Eventually the other woman would give in, but obviously demanding to be the little spoon. They would lie for hours like that, tucked into each other. She’d wrap her arms around her and entangle their legs together, content with the gentle beat of each other’s heart.

As time went on, it began to be her that would beg for a cuddle, resorting to puppy eyes and pleading. She would never say no, but she just looked so cute when she did that.

If only her head was on her shoulder now, blonde curls hanging down her back and a warm body pressed into hers.

The bathroom sink is still cluttered with all her makeup. Every product you could ever imagine, scattered all over the counter. 

She wishes she could kiss her again. Pink lipstick spreading across her own red. Her thumb drawing circles behind her ear. Tongues twirling together and sighing into each other’s mouth, breath warm and soft. Fingers tangling in waves and grasping onto hair desperately. She wishes she could feel her lips against her own again, teasing and earnest.

She wishes she could have her again. Watch her roll her head against the pillows and drive her hips into the mattress. Grasp the sheets and stifle quiet moans.

She wishes she could just sleep next to her again. Hold her tight against her own body and fall asleep like there’s noone else in the world.  
Feel the rise and fall of her chest and hold her hand whilst she dreams.

It hurts to wear her hoodie. It hurts so bad.

She wants to organise the makeup neatly back into its drawer, wipe up the side and clean the top of the eyeshadow palettes. But she can’t bring herself to do it. There’s a makeup wipe still on the counter. It’s all dried up, but she won’t throw it away.

She goes back over to their bed and pulls out a small black box from underneath. It’s fulled to the brim with hundreds of post-it notes. It started of in highschool, when they first met. They’d leave each other notes on the front of their cars. It quickly became her favourite thing, rushing out of school as soon as the day ended to find a note tucked under the wipers. It continued on, and she’d find them on her dresser after her wife had left for work.

She thumbs through all the notes, smiling at the particularly sweet ones. It feels so good to look back on happy times. She’d kept every single one.

She can feel her handwriting that’s imprinted into the paper.

She closes the box again and slides it back under the bed. She manages to stand up again, but sits down on the window seat. She needs a smoke.

She can’t help it.

She used to complain at her all the time for it. Said it made her breath smell disgusting and the kitchen walls yellow. She just laughed. But her wife would keep going, saying she didn’t want her to get lung cancer and-

She doesn’t want to think about it. She pushes the window open, and the air is cool and sharp against her skin. She lights a cigarette, but every breath in and out feels unwelcome and harsh. Her lungs feel like they’re filling up too much, like her throat is a gas chamber, and she can’t breathe.

Cold water. It felt like far too much, and she didn’t have the energy to take her clothes off so she just sat down in the shower. The water feels cruel against her face and it all goes into her mouth. She feels like she’s drowning, choking, and she can’t bring herself to care. 

It doesn’t work.

She instead shuts the water off, pulls her now soaken hair up into a bun and actually takes off her wet clothes. Once she’s dry, she wraps herself in her wife’s fluffy night robe and goes downstairs.

Strawberry fruit tea tastes like her. It’s warm and soothing and it makes her belly feel comforted too. Once she poured herself a cup, she sinks into the sofa cushions.

It’s a white sofa, littered with pink pillows in every shade you could ever imagine. When they decorated the living room, she had turned her nose up and protested. But now they smell of her and they feel like her and remind her of her and oh god as she buries herself in them she feels like she can’t come up for air and it’s all consuming, smothering her.

It can’t always feel like this. Surely.

The pictures across the fireplace capture happy memories but all it does is spark a painful twang in her heart.

In the drawer of the cabinet under the tv, it’s filled with CD’s. Some are just audio, but some also have her gorgeous face flashing across the tv. She wrote less and less songs as the years went by, work and the house and life getting in the way, but every song was still as beautiful as the last.

She’s listened to each CD hundreds of times, and she could tell you in order which one was written. But there’s one she’s never seen before. There’s no writing across the bind and the CD case is clear. But as she flips the case over, in her small delicate handwriting, two words are written.

For Katya.

Her heart sinks a little, and in one fluid moment she’s taking it out of the case and sliding it into the DVD player underneath the TV. A blur of blonde hair flashes onto the screen and she smiles, bright and wide. Katya slides backwards against the sofa, clutching a pillow in her hands.

“Hi babe!” She has to stop herself from crying. “You’re at work right now, late shift ughhh,” the woman rolls her eyes and laughs, “so I’m taking the opportunity to record this song I wrote for you. I can’t wait for you to hear it.” She tilts her head and her eyes narrow slightly, before she gently starts to strum her guitar. “I love you so, so much.” Katya can’t help it now, the tears have started to roll down her cheeks before she’s even realised. The woman on the screen sighs deeply before starting to gently sing the lyrics.

Weirdness follows me wherever I go.

Weirdness seems to know me even better than I seem to know myself,

I'm someone else.

Looking to the clock beside my bed,

Am I really keeping time or is it only keeping me instead?

Go back to bed.

The song feels so warm, soft, and it makes her heart feels like it’s about to burst. It feels absolutely perfect.

Woah woah woah woah

You’ve got time to grow

Her voice is completely surrounding her, making her feel comforted and supported.

Oh soldier, take your time

No one said the words all have to rhyme, and if they do it's fine.

And even if they don't, no one needs to know

Woah woah soldier, you gotta let things go.

She lifts one hand up to the screen, and brushes her thumb across her face, as if she could reach all the way through.

“I love you so, so much Trix.”

**Author's Note:**

> thankyou so much for reading! i would really appreciate if you left a comment! <3


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